


A night at the Chameleon

by tissaias_piglet



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Lesbian Sex, MoonSecrets' suggested title - they bone okay??, PWP, The Witcher 3 Spoilers, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, both want to top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26447011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tissaias_piglet/pseuds/tissaias_piglet
Summary: “We used to be such good friends, Triss, and now…” she trailed off, but the implication was clear. Their friendship hadn’t been the same since Geralt came between them.Yennefer/TrissSpoilers for events in the book-canon and game-canon
Relationships: Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	A night at the Chameleon

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers follow, be warned (again).  
> This is set in Witcher 3, when the gang is all at the Chameleon, after the battle at Kaer Morhen and after Philippa and Rita have been rescued, and before they all set off for Skellige.

“We used to be such good friends, Triss, and now…” she trailed off, but the implication was clear. Their friendship hadn’t been the same since Geralt came between them. It surprised Triss that Yennefer was bringing it up – their recent interactions had hardly been pleasant or enjoyable, but now Yennefer seemed almost unhappy about the way things were between them. She bit her lip, focussing on her wine, waiting to see where the conversation was going. There was still every chance that Yennefer’s pleasant mood could vanish in a heartbeat, replaced by the anger – and, dare she name it, hatred? – which she’d become so used to.

In fact, that Yennefer had sought her out at all was strange and unexpected, and had put her on edge a little. She’d been downstairs, trying to lose herself in the raucous noise of the Chameleon and think of something other than Ciri, Geralt, and Yennefer. Distraction, she’d called it. Moping, Dandelion had called it. Yennefer had appeared with a suspiciously sweet smile, two bottles of Dandelion’s most expensive wine in one hand and two glasses in the other, and the invitation to come to her room and talk. The suspicious edge to Triss’ thoughts had been pleasantly eroded after a few glasses of wine, but she still hadn’t let her guard down completely.

Yennefer didn’t seem to notice Triss’ sudden reluctance to talk. It had been several hours, and so far they’d discussed what they’d learned of Ciri’s immediate past, the rescue of Margarita and capture/rescue of Philippa, the trustworthiness of the Elven sage, Avallac’h, Yennefer’s time at Vizima under Emhyr var Emreis, and Triss’ work helping mages escape Novigrad safely, all with barely time for a breath. The only pauses in the conversation had been to drink and to refill their glasses, so it stood to reason that Triss might need a break from talking eventually. At least, that’s what she assumed Yennefer would think.

“I don’t want that pathetic excuse for a man to be the only thing we’ve shared,” Yennefer continued slowly, her gaze raking over the younger woman in front of her, “we’re better than that. We met for a reason, and that reason is, and always has been and will be, that we have so much more to share with each other than just having been touched by him.”

Triss knew she should be focussing on Yennefer’s words, but she couldn’t help her mind straying. A ‘pathetic excuse for a man’? She’d never quite understood the relationship between Geralt and Yennefer. It seemed to be based more around sniping and arguing than any kind of genuine feeling, but what did she know about what they said and did behind closed doors? And why was she thinking about Geralt?

As though sensing that Triss’ thoughts had strayed – although hopefully not actually being able to hear them – Yennefer sought to bring her back into the moment. She put down her glass and stood up a little shakily from where she’d been lounging on the bed, walking over to Triss, smirking down at her, settling on the edge of the small table she sat at.

“You’re drunk, Yennefer,” Triss said, but she couldn’t help staring at Yennefer’s mouth, at her soft lips, at the smear of red wine which had trickled down to her chin. She had always known Yennefer was attractive, and there had been nights when her mind wandered to ideas of getting to share a bed with both Yennefer and Geralt, which had kept her feverishly touching herself for hours. But having Yennefer here, now, wearing such an air of desperation and lack of composure, well, it was intensely seductive.

“What if I am?” Yennefer asked, lazily reaching out to stroke Triss’ cheek. It was a very good question. What did it matter if Yennefer was drunk? What did it matter if she, Triss, was also drunk? It mattered not a lick. She wanted to tangle her fingers in the soft, messy hair, and leave marks on her shoulders and neck and breasts which would take days, perhaps weeks, to heal. She wanted Geralt to see her looking so ruined, and know exactly who had done it. And it didn't matter how sober, or otherwise, either of them were.

Yennefer stroked Triss' cheek a little more firmly, then gripped her chin roughly between her thumb and forefinger, bringing her face up, demandingly pulling her into a kiss. Their lips met hotly, both women moaning deeply as they suddenly became frantic, desperate to feel and taste as much of each other as they could. The candlelight flickered and flared suddenly, bathing them in heat, as Triss felt her control over her power lapsing, too lost in the feeling of Yennefer’s lips on hers.

The kiss seemed to last forever, warm and wet and messy and needy. Eventually the need to breathe pulled them apart, and they sat facing each other, panting, barely able to conceal their lust.

“What is it that you want out of this?” Triss asked breathlessly. She pushed an errant lock of hair back from Yennefer’s face, watching her carefully. The elder woman flushed. “Come on,” Triss said, half-coaxingly and half-demandingly, unsure of which approach Yennefer would prefer. Although in truth, she really didn't think that Yennefer herself knew at that moment in time.

A contemplative silence fell. Yennefer reached for Triss’ glass, refilled it, drank it down in one, and swayed a little. “I want...” she began, making some effort to hide the emerging slur in her voice, “I want to feel something other than this pain, this fear. Even if it's only for a night.” She reached for the bottle of wine again, found it empty, and pushed it aside. They’d finished both of them now. “Please?” she asked, looking up and pinning Triss with a surprisingly focussed and intense gaze, “help me to forget?”

Triss couldn't describe the strange bond she felt with Yennefer. They were, of course, united by love for Ciri, as well as the dubious honour of having shared their beds with the same man, but there was something more than that. There had always been something more than that. She’d never deluded herself that Yennefer was a particularly good or kind person, but, Triss was coming to realise, neither was she. And really, was any sorceress? Philippa certainly would never claim – or wish – to be good or kind, and neither was Margarita without fault. Even Archmistress Tissaia de Vries had been well known for her flashes of cruelty and coldness.

What did it matter if a person was good or not? By the gods, it had been a long, long time that she'd been alone.

“No feelings?” Triss asked, keeping her tone light, but it was clear the question demanded an answer. She tucked the same errant lock of hair back from Yennefer’s face again, running her fingertips over soft lips, surprised to realise that even if Yennefer couldn't promise there wouldn’t be any feelings involved, she wouldn't necessarily back out.

“No feelings,” Yennefer agreed. Holding Triss' gaze, she slowly and deliberately began to pull up her nightdress, exposing her thighs. She smirked, knowing she had the other woman snared. “Now are you going to take me or not?” she purred, an invitation, a challenge. Triss' gaze lingered on her, and Yennefer felt the overwhelming power which always came with seducing a woman.

Triss felt herself ache at Yennefer's words, and she grabbed the elder woman's hand, dragging her to the bed. She had the sense that Yennefer would want to lead, and that she'd be even more fun to fuck if she was angry about being denied that opportunity.

Yennefer quickly pulled her hand away and began to unfasten her own dress, barely giving a thought to the silliness of trying to undress each other. In her experience, it was much quicker and easier to do it oneself. Triss seemed happy to follow her lead, and soon they were both completely naked, feeling only a second of awkwardness before Yennefer pulled Triss close to her, kissing her again, more deeply this time. Unable to resist the feeling of the elder woman's lips against hers, Triss allowed her to be in control for a moment, before she pulled away, climbing onto the bed and waiting for Yennefer to follow her.

They lay down together, breaths hitching in anticipation of what they both knew was about to happen. Yennefer smirked, pressing a firm kiss to Triss' lips before straddling her, continuing the kisses across her jaw and down her neck, reaching her freckled shoulder where she bit lightly. In spite of her intention not to let Yennefer lead, Triss found herself writhing and mewling in desperation, her hips moving subtly as she tried to chase any friction or pressure she could get.

“Now now, patience is a virtue,” Yennefer chided, shifting a little so her weight effectively pinned Triss' hips to the bed, leaning down and licking a hot, damp line from her collarbone to her lips. Triss whined, arching up for another kiss, which Yennefer was only too happy to bestow on her. They kissed fiercely, and Yennefer couldn't help but begin to move against the younger woman, equally desperate for some relief.

Triss grabbed a handful of her hair, holding her in place, their lips almost touching, damp gasps shared. “I'm not a very virtuous person, Yenna,” she breathed seductively against Yennefer's mouth, “as I hope you'll find out very soon.” With her unoccupied hand, she dragged her nails up Yennefer's slender back, rewarded with a whimper of need against her lips. “Now get off me and touch me, before I tie your hands and leave you whining on your bed.” It was an idle threat, but if Yennefer knew, she didn't show it. Without a word, she climbed off and lay down on the bed, awaiting Triss' next instruction. She looked almost – _almost_ – deferential, and Triss felt the ache between her legs growing. Perhaps Yennefer was quietly sick of being the person in charge, the person who was expected to provide solutions to every problem, and wanted someone else to take control and remove the need for her to think for a while.

“Come here,” she commanded approvingly, and Yennefer instantly moved closer, seemingly stifling her whimpers of need, doing her best to seem submissive. “Good girl,” Triss purred, stroking Yennefer's cheek roughly with her thumb, sensing the elder woman would hate to be spoken to in such a way. Yennefer tensed, almost shaking with the effort of continuing to be meek and quiet.

“Mmm, yes. Such a good girl,” Triss continued, and Yennefer whimpered pathetically. “Oh? Do you like being praised? Or do you enjoy being humiliated? Hmm?” She reached out, nudging Yennefer’s thighs apart, and trailing her fingers through the wetness she found at the apex. “I see. You like being praised.” Triss knew she was pushing her luck, but getting Yennefer so worked up was too much to resist.

“Spread your legs,” she commanded, and Yennefer did as she was told. Triss pushed two fingers inside her, removing them to see them coated in Yennefer’s juices, glistening in the low light. “Look at that. Look how wet you are just from a few kisses. Or is it from me calling you a good girl?” She sucked her fingers, groaning as she finally got to taste the elder woman. She wanted to put her mouth on Yennefer and eat her out until she could taste nothing else but her juices for a week. “You’re so easy. Look how quickly you got wet for me. It’s a good job you’d taken off your underwear, isn’t it, or it would be ruined.”

Yennefer sobbed in desperation, her resolve almost broken. Triss thought she’d never seen anything more erotic in her life. She placed her finger beneath Yennefer’s chin, forcing the other woman to look up at her, and slipped her damp fingers into her mouth. “Suck,” Triss commanded, and Yennefer did as she was told, chasing the taste of herself with her tongue. She grazed lightly with her teeth as Triss withdrew her fingers, and the younger woman seemed to unravel.

As much as Yennefer had – surprisingly – enjoyed being mocked and teased, she was too worked up to wait any longer. She split Triss' legs with a touch, just as Triss had done to her, and immediately soaked her fingers in the juices pooling there. Wordlessly, she smeared them onto Triss' lips, feeling hot breath against her fingertips as the younger woman whimpered. “Don't lick your lips,” she commanded, and Triss nodded, whimpering, clenching the sheets in her fists. Yennefer leaned in, licking her lips slowly at first, then lapping the juices away messily, waiting until Triss opened her mouth and moaned before she kissed her again.

After another kiss which seemed to last for an eternity, Yennefer slipped her hand back between Triss' thighs, delving into the wetness and beginning to rub her firmly. Trembling, unable to do anything else, Triss copied her, beginning to rub Yennefer in the same firm way. She whined, only vaguely aware of the fact that she'd never been so aroused with any man. Yennefer was raw, lustful, needy, and an absolute goddess to watch, her sweat-soaked skin shimmering in the candle light.

Taking a chance, Triss began to rub a little harder, trying to take the lead, wanting to see and hear Yennefer coming apart as quickly as she could. Receiving no admonishment, she rubbed harder still, using the pad of her finger and rubbing firmly without stopping or changing rhythm, the way she preferred to be touched. Yennefer began to tremble beside her, leaning in so their damp foreheads were pressed together, close enough to steal desperate kisses, and rubbed Triss in the same way. The effect was almost instant – the insistent, demanding touch, Yennefer right there and so close to coming apart too, the sound of their moans, their gasps for breath, the obscene sound of wet fingers moving through sticky juices – and Triss shook almost violently, desperate to come.

“Please, oh please, don't stop,” Triss begged, and Yennefer groaned, barely able to get any words out. She didn't think she could hold on any longer, all she wanted was to give herself up to Triss completely. She bit the younger woman's lip lightly, then dipped her head and nipped at her jaw, still rubbing her firmly. She needed to hear Triss come apart, for her, with her. “Yes, oh, _Yennefer_!” Triss sobbed, shaking as Yennefer brought her over the edge, the pleasure crashing over and through her. Yennefer felt herself lose control too, burying her face in the crook of Triss' neck, breathing in the scent of her until she thought she would drown in it, whining sweetly as Triss' skilful fingers guided her through the aftershocks.

They collapsed back, both giggling inexplicably. “You're.. you're good at that,” Yennefer commented, still breathless and pressing her thighs together to try and ease her sensitivity. She stared unashamedly at Triss, who looked thoroughly undone. It was a glorious sight, especially knowing she was the cause.

“Oh, I hope you're not too exhausted, because I'm not done with you yet,” Triss smirked, running her fingers up Yennefer’s thigh...


End file.
